


The Perks of Being a Teenage Superhero

by betweenthebliss



Category: Kick-Ass (2010)
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, Gen, Marvel's Runaways, semi-crossover, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenthebliss/pseuds/betweenthebliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a killer starts taunting Kick-Ass and Hit Girl to figure out who he is, Dave and Mindy have to tap some unusual resources to get the job done. Mindy doesn't approve of Dave's methods, but not everything is as cut-and-dry as she wishes it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perks of Being a Teenage Superhero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynnmonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/gifts).



> this is not the (much longer) story i wanted it to be, but i hope you like it, lynnmonster! thanks for requesting this fandom, i was thrilled to get assigned to write it, and i had a lot of fun with it. i couldn't tell from your journal whether or not you've read runaways, but if you haven't, i highly recommend it. XD
> 
> the title is a semi-reference to the perks of being a wallflower, which is a great book about being lonely and wondering if you're ever going to find someone who gets you. thanks to d. for the lightning beta job.

_when you're out there without care, yeah, i was out of touch  
but it wasn't because i didn't know enough  
i just knew too much  
does that make me crazy?  
probably..._

 _-gnarls barkley, "crazy"_

\---

The man's head is twisted at an unnatural angle. Apart from that, he could be asleep.

Hit Girl feels for a pulse anyway, letting the wrist drop with a rude sound as what she already knew is confirmed.

"Did you-- oh," says Dave from the mouth of the alley. "I guess you-- oh. Yeah. Wow." She knows she should think of him as Kick-Ass, but it's hard when she knows him with the mask off. She hears the weird quaver in his voice and knows it means he's upset; it's hard to pretend not to know his weaknesses.

"Yeah," she says, sounding tired. "Too late again." Kick-Ass's email had pinged at midnight. It's quarter past one. The guy's been dead half an hour, tops. Another random hit, another slap in the face to the both of them.

"Third time," he says, shaking his head. "What are we doing wrong?"

"Don't know," she says brusquely. She brushes past him on her way back to the fire escape, thinking, turning things over in her mind. It's been a long time since a bad guy scared her; it took three murders for this one to get her attention, and now after three more done practically right under her nose, she has to admit she's pretty fucking nervous.

"This is some serious shit," she mutters to herself, starting the climb, hearing Dave start up behind her.

\---

Later on, back at home, Marcus asks her how studying at Molly's went. "Great," she says happily, pasting on a smile. Inside her bag, the purple wig and plaid skirt are hidden underneath her social studies book.

\---

She and Dave are still the only ones who know Chris D'Amico's secret.

Dave's at NYU now. D'Amico didn't go to college. Why would he? They figure it's not like he needs an education for what he'll be doing with the rest of his life.

She doesn't know why they don't tell. Red Mist is mostly a thing of the past; he doesn't show up much, except to make sure no one forgets about him and to make himself look good. The real nuisance of Chris D'Amico is what he does without the mask on, the way he uses his inheritance (money, power, influence, hatred) to make life in New York just that much harder for people like her and Dave. Under his watch, criminals learn that most of the time no one can be bothered to stop them. That the supposed good guys have more important things to do.

She thinks Dave doesn't tell because he's hoping it won't always be like this. The kid's an idealist, and she'd lay money on the fact that somewhere deep inside him he remembers what it was like having a friend exactly like him. Someone who told him more than _Yeah kid, you're doing all right_ ; someone who thought he was a hero. She thinks bitterly of Big Daddy sometimes, and wishes Dave could've known him better. Could've known him enough to know the compliment he paid just by telling Dave he wasn't completely fucking it up.

The difference between Dave and Mindy is pretty simple. Dave still has hope that someday he'll find out he's not totally alone in the world. Mindy gave up wishing for that when her father died.

\---

"I don't know what to do," Dave says over the phone that weekend. "He left another message in my inbox. It's gonna happen again if we can't get to him first."

"I don't know what to tell you," she says back, shrugging, doodling an Uzi in the margin of her geometry notebook. "We don't have the technology or the manpower to figure out where he's going to be before he's there. Or even how he's picking his victims, I mean there's no connection."

There's silence, and she finishes a proof while she waits for him to say something.

"I have an idea," he says slowly. "I'll... I'll call you back."

"Can't wait," she says dryly, and hangs up.

Her homework's done before it occurs to her to wonder what idea he might've had that she wouldn't have had first.

\---

School's harder than she thought it would be. Not making good grades; Mindy's smarter than a girl her age has a right to be, smart enough to know straight B's are the best way to avoid getting noticed. No, it's the other stuff that's hard. The social stuff. Nobody picks on her (they're not _that_ stupid) but she's not top dog, either. Half the kids are scared of her, and the other half ignore her. But it's hard to give a fuck about her standing in the social pecking order when she spends most of the day trying to figure out how to catch murderers, rapists and mobsters.

She's luckier than most of the losers, though; at least she's got one person who understands her. Molly isn't like the other kids in all the same ways Mindy isn't-- well, probably not the _same_ , but close enough. There's something different about her, a shadow on her face that Mindy doesn't understand, but recognizes. She knows Molly has secrets; maybe secrets as bad as hers. She's seen her with a bunch of older kids: a tall blonde who could be her sister, a chick with purple hair as bright as Hit Girl's wig, a guy who looks like he just surfed in from L.A.

She never sees Molly with an adult. She never hears her talk about her parents. She doesn't ask, because friends don't push each other's sore spots. Sometimes she thinks about what life might be like without Molly, and thinks maybe she gets where Dave is coming from a little bit more than she likes to admit.

\---

Dave sounds different the next time they talk.

Marcus picks up when he calls; she can hear him from down the hall and knows it's Dave by the way he sounds, relieved that Dave is calling, that he's still in Mindy's life. She knows Marcus thinks Dave looks out for her. Hilarious. If only he knew who really did the looking out for whom in that relationship.

"What," she says when she picks up.

"Got good news," he says, and he sounds excited. Optimistic, even. It doesn't bode well.

"About--"

"Yeah. I found a way to backtrace the email address he's been using to leave those messages, and--"

"Found a way how?" she cuts in.

There's an awkward pause. "Someone I sort of know. Someone Kick-Ass sort of knows. Like an anonymous source?"

"Kay," she says, shrugging. "And?"

"And the emails all got sent from a net cafe on 23rd Street. So if we can tap into the traffic camera right on that corner--"

"Something else you're getting from your anonymous source," she mutters, not needing him to confirm it.

"--we can watch who comes in and out and maybe, you know, get a few ideas of who it could be."

She shrugs again. "Yeah. I guess a list of hundreds is better than thousands."

"My thoughts exactly." He sounds proud. She just feels tired. She's never been able to explain her scorn to him. He still thinks this is an adventure, that every time they go out it's another chance to make the world a better place, or something. She doesn't think he'd get it, even if she'd bothered to try. He really thinks there's an end in sight, that if enough people put on masks and kick the asses of the bad guys then the bad guys will stop getting out of bed in the morning.

She knows Big Daddy would've gone out of his way to point out all the ways that idea is bullshit. But try as she might, she just can't bring herself to do it. Call it pity, call it whatever you want. She doesn't like to admit it, but part of her likes knowing there's someone in the world a little less fucked up than she is.

\---

Kick-Ass's anonymous friend was on the right track. There aren't as many people hanging out in the net cafe as she'd expected, and the next time an email from their sadistic friend turns up, they comb through the traffic camera and get a lock on a couple of suspicious faces. Only problem is, neither of them are skilled enough hackers to get into the facial recognition database to see if a name turns up.

"I got it," he reassures her. "My guy will know how."

His guy. Yeah. Hit Girl tosses her head in derision, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Make it fast, though; he said he's gonna hit again next week."

"I know," says Dave, sounding a little annoyed, or maybe hurt. Whatever. Sometimes she wonders how she ended up with this lame ass for a sidekick; the only upside is that he knows she's more dangerous than him, more ruthless and with fewer hangups. He defers to her, which is nice, 'cause without the mask on she has to fight tooth and nail to get respect from just about anyone.

It's been over a year since he came to her and asked what she thought about starting it back up again. _The caped crusader thing,_ he called it. She'd refrained from pointing out that Kick-Ass never wore a cape. Well, she'd been trying to figure out how to get back out there without arousing Marcus's suspicions for months by then, so really Dave was just giving her the answer to a problem she hadn't been able to solve.

It only took three weeks for them to get picked up by the media. After that, Katie dumped Dave pretty quick. Said she couldn't stand the idea, the constant fear of turning on the TV one night to a scene like she'd had to witness the night Big Daddy died. Good riddance, was Hit Girl's opinion. Civilians were mostly just dead weight anyway; they couldn't understand you, and you couldn't trust them. Besides, she'd always found Katie annoying as hell anyway.

Getting dumped gave Dave a little bit of a kick in the teeth, which had the side effect of making him grow up a little. He spent a couple months not talking to Mindy about anything except their work; then it was like he shook it off or something, and he was back to mostly-normal. Quieter, a little more bitter. It's weird, but not unwelcome. She's wondered sometimes since what went on in his head, how much fucked-up shit lives in there that she's not privy to. But she doesn't worry too much. The core of Dave, the guy who believed that good always won over evil, she knows that'll never change.

\---

Friday after school Mindy and Molly walk out toward the parking lot together, bitching about AP History and the gym teacher who supervises their lunch period, when Molly changes the subject without warning. "Sooo," she says, dragging out the vowel, "you doing anything tonight?" She tosses one of the hanging tassels of her hat over her shoulder; its pink ears make her shadow look ridiculous. She's not looking at Mindy, but at her feet.

"Nah, nothing much. Gonna see my friend who goes to NYU." _Gonna try to catch a scumbag murderer in between book reports,_ she thinks wryly.

"Yeah, me either," Molly says quickly. "I was gonna say you should come over, but you're busy, it's cool." She's looking at the ground under their feet, but Mindy doesn't miss the significance; she's never been invited over, doesn't even know where Molly lives, and now she feels like a dick for being busy, for not being able to give her friend a better excuse. As if she'd actually ditch Molly for Dave if she was just going to hang out at his fucking dorm for a night.

Words catch in her throat; she can't tell the truth, and she can't bring herself to lie. She steals a glance sideways, abruptly confused by the flush on Molly's cheeks, by the little pit in her stomach that opens up as Molly turns and looks back at her, baring her perfect teeth in a sudden grin. "It's cool," Molly repeats, bumping her bare shoulder against Mindy's, and even through her t-shirt Mindy can feel how warm she is, like she carries some California sun inside her. She opens her mouth to say something, but then someone calls Molly's name and they both look up and around. It's the surfer dude with the van, leaning out the window hollering. In the passenger's seat, the girl with the purple hair is smacking him on the arm, but he's ignoring her.

"Your brother's a pain," Mindy says frankly, to cover the weird discomfort she's feeling. She doesn't know what's causing it either, which makes it twice as annoying.

Molly laughs awkwardly, blushing again and shrugs. "Yeah, I know. But he's family." She turns away, her hand skating along Mindy's forearm, squeezing her hand briefly. Mindy's too surprised to squeeze back before the hand is gone. "See you," Molly murmurs, and breaks into a run toward the van, pink tassels and blond braids streaming behind her.

Mindy feels that weird hollow feeling again, like she wants to laugh or scream but doesn't know why; she just grins instead, and turns toward the sidewalk, toward the subway that'll take her home.

\---

"I'm gonna meet my guy again tonight," Dave says on the phone. "He should have the stuff from the facial recognition site."

"Do you know how sketchy it is that you won't tell me who this dude is?" she demands. She's feeling sullen and not in the mood for this bullshit. On top of having to turn down Molly, she got in a fight with Marcus over dinner. She can't help being annoyed that he's upset she didn't ace her last geometry test, and perversely even more annoyed that he hasn't noticed in all this time that there's way more serious shit going down in her life than fucking _geometry_. And now on top of this, Dave's bailing, and it's too late to text Molly and tell her she can come over after all.

"Yeah, I know," Dave says, and he sounds really uncomfortable, almost scared. "But he made me promise not to tell you."

"He knows we work together?" Her voice sharpens, her eyes narrowing. Her fingers clutch the phone so hard it hurts.

"No no no," he says, so fast it's frantic; she can picture his hands waving, his eyes bugging out. "I just mean, he said not to tell anyone, and you're the only one who would ask, I didn't mean he knew--"

And like that, she knows he's lying. Whoever this source is, he knows about Hit Girl. She could fucking kill Dave, she really could. How many times does she fucking have to tell him-- it's like he's painting a target on his back, and hers too.

As soon as they're off the phone she's packing her bag. "Where are you going?" Marcus asks as she flies through the living room.

"Out," she says flippantly. "To see Dave. Don't wait up."

It occurs to her as she's waiting outside Dave's apartment that Marcus probably wonders if they're fucking. She almost busts out laughing at the idea-- not that it hadn't occurred to her once herself. She went through about five minutes of having a crush on him in the eighth grade, before she reminded herself he was a boy, and boys were morons. Dave wants perfection in a girl, someone he can idealize just like he does everything else, and she's never going to be that, and would never want to be. They take turns being the big sibling in their weird friendship, and that's just fine by her.

Dave comes out of his apartment looking bulky; he's got Kick-Ass's uniform on under his clothes. The mask and batons have got to be in the backpack slung over his shoulder, and he moves quick, like he knows where he's going.

Silent as a shadow, Mindy follows him. She's got one of Molly's hats (black, with cat ears, something she'd never wear) pulled down to her eyebrows, and with her hair tucked up under it she's pretty sure even if Dave turns around he won't pick her out of the other people on the sidewalk. She feels the adrenaline buzz down to her fingertips. She's nervous, suddenly. The past few weeks are coming back to her and she feels like an idiot for not realizing something was up from the first. When has Dave ever acted like this before? This person, whoever they are, has got to be more than just a regular anonymous tip, otherwise why would he even mention her?

He gets on the subway and she follows, stands behind a linebacker-size guy and peeks under his arm to see where Dave gets off. She loses him for a minute as he exits into the street, but then the crowd dissipates and she sees the familiar slouch; she darts between a bunch of thirtysomethings in treacherous heels, past a foursome of kids her age (double date, she thinks with a mental eyeroll, _lame_ ) and then she has to hang back around the corner as Dave turns down a quieter street without much to hide her if he turns around.

He doesn't turn around. It's a street full of brownstones; nice, unassuming houses with long flights of stairs leading up to the front doors. She sneaks from one to the next, the cold air stealing her breath, her heart racing faster with confusion and apprehension. When she sees Dave turn into an alley between two buildings, it starts beating so fast she thinks she might pass out.

She creeps closer, til she's crouched in the shadow of the stoop right at the mouth of the alley. She hears voices. She strains; finally she can tell what they're saying.

"...telling you it'll be him."

"And I'm telling you it doesn't matter if he has a criminal record or not. The best serial killers were nobodies, Liziewski, come on already."

"Best," she hears that clearly, Dave's voice full of derision and disgust. "Yeah. Okay."

The other guy mutters something indistinct, Dave lets out a harsh laugh that doesn't sound at all amused, and this time when the anonymous source says something the only response is a scuffling sound, like a struggle breaking out.

 _Fuck no,_ she thinks, and scuttles forward for a better view, tugging the butterfly knife out of the side pocket of her backpack, threading her fingers through her knuckle duster as she goes. Then she stops short at the mouth of the alley, not entirely sure she's really seeing what she thinks she's seeing.

Dave is standing with one hand flung out against the wall, blocking the escape of a guy with dark hair and a familiar sneer. He's leaning in close; their faces can't be more than four inches apart, and Mindy can see the shorter kid's slouching but not trying to get away, his chin lifted in defiance even as Dave's glaring at him, that close, close enough to kiss. They're almost touching everywhere; they only make one shadow, and it's oddly intimate, the way D'Amico's staring right back into Dave's face like he's not scared at all.

Mindy freezes. _What the fuck?_ she thinks, her brain wildly trying to grasp some sense of reason in what she's seeing. _What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?_

It isn't until two sets of eyes turn and lock on her (later she'll take a stupid satisfaction from the stupid look of shock on Dave's face) she realizes she said it out loud. Dave's pushed away from the wall and from D'Amico so fast it's almost funny, but the way he shifts himself so he's blocking her from seeing him isn't funny at all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asks again, loud enough after their quiet whispers that both of them flinch.

"What are you doing here?" Dave asks, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Were you-- you followed me?" His voice does that weird almost-crack that makes him sound young.

"Yeah, I fucking followed you. And for a good fucking reason, apparently," she says, eyes sliding past Dave, rage boiling hot inside her chest. Logic reminds her that he didn't kill Big Daddy, didn't even really have anything to do with him dying. He's an idiot, not even worth her consideration as far as villains go, when all he does is what he thinks his dad would want him to do. She hates that she can't fault him for that, when the same could be said of her.

"Min--" he starts, but she cuts him off with a sharp bark, "Don't. I know you told him but don't fucking use my name in front of _him_."

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" D'Amico snarls, ducking out from behind Dave's arm. He doesn't move toward her; her lip curls in satisfaction. He's not _that_ much of an idiot, then; she's just waiting for an excuse to deck him, and he's well aware she could take him blindfolded.

"Can it," Dave says in an undertone over his shoulder, barely glancing back, and the familiarity of it undoes her.

"Fuck you, Dave," she spits, "you fucking _moron_."

"What? He's been helping us, Mi--" She's glad that he cuts the word off half-formed. "I just told him this is the kind of bad shit even he wouldn't get mixed up in," Dave says, voice edging on that crack again, ignoring D'Amico's sputtered protest and going on. "He's been using his tech to help us."

"Help us?" Now it's her voice going up a few octaves. " _Help us_? Are you stupid? How do you know he wouldn't be involved with this fuckwad? How do you know it's not him all along, and he's just trying to throw you off the trail?"

"Good idea," D'Amico says, his voice clipped and harsh. "'Cause I don't have anything better to do than fuck with you guys."

"Seems to me you've got nothing but time," Mindy says, soft and dangerous. Her fingers clench around the knuckle duster. She feels naked without her mask, without the wig and the boots. She's grown up now (seventeen next month) but she's still Hit Girl, and she really wants to kick this guy's ass.

D'Amico doesn't say anything. He just stands there, half hidden behind Dave's shoulder, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. Dave takes a couple steps forward, lowers his voice and says, "Look, I know this seems crazy. But he didn't offer-- I asked. This isn't a setup, I swear."

She moves a little bit toward him, finally feeling like she can be this close and not punch him. "How the hell would you know?" she grits out between clenched teeth. "You think because he said 'I promise I'm not gonna screw you over' that he means it? _Him_?" It goes unsaid, _the guy whose dad killed my dad._ She thinks Dave's a lunatic if he expects her ever to see D'Amico as anything else.

"I don't care what he told you, whatever that's all about," she goes on, gesturing between Dave and D'Amico to indicate the scene she walked in on, which for fuck's sake, she is _not_ thinking about the level of intensity there, she's just fucking _not_. "If he's got this info to give you, it's because he's involved somehow, end of story."

D'Amico starts cursing again, protesting, but she doesn't have time to stand around and listen. "If I'm right, and I know I am, then we're back to square one," she tells Dave furiously. "I'm going the fuck home. And you," she goes on, jerking her chin at D'Amico, her eyes narrowed to slits. "You'd better hope you're not fucking with us, or I swear there won't be enough pieces of you left to identify."

Neither of the guys says anything as she turns on her heel and leaves. _Boys are fucking morons,_ she repeats to herself as she walks. _He'd better prove me wrong._ She can't remember ever wishing that before, but now she does, whole-hearted.

\---

The next day Dave just shows up. It's early; she's still in her PJs watching the news with a bagel in one hand. "Fuck you," she mutters around it as he walks into the kitchen. He looks downtrodden, worse than she can remember seeing him in awhile.

"Fuck you too," he says back, quiet so Marcus won't hear, but she can tell he's mostly kidding. "Look, I wanted to say I'm sorry for not telling you. About, you know, about Chris--"

"Red Mist, you mean?" she mutters with a sneer. Fucking stupid superhero name.

"--I totally should've, and it was a dick thing to do. I just... didn't know what to say, at first. I didn't think he'd write back, or that if he did it'd be more than mocking me for asking in the first place. But he really wants to help, Mindy. He's... he's not all bad."

"He's bad enough," she says, quiet but adamant. "You killed his dad, you think he's just going to forgive that?"

"I don't know," he says with a shrug, playing with a napkin and fork. His eyes are on his hands, not on her. "We don't-- we haven't talked about it."

"Do you talk about anything?" she retorts.

He flushes dark, ducks his head and nods. "Yeah, Mindy, we've talked kind of a lot lately."

"Lately is two weeks, in case you'd forgotten," she says, but she can feel she's losing steam. She doesn't have the energy to argue with him. She's too disappointed, feels too let down. _I thought we were on the same page,_ she thinks, wanting to bury her head in her arms and go back to sleep.

"Look, after you left we talked some more, and he admitted he'd been holding something back," Dave says, looking sheepish. ("Knew it," she mutters.) "After we-- well, you know, after that day-- he had to hire a lot of new people, and not all of them are criminals--" she ignores how ludicrous this comparison is-- "so they're not all in the facial recognition database, but he-- well, he recognized this guy."

He reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a traffic camera photo of a thickset man with bushy eyebrows. "Says he's one of his new drivers. He didn't want to tell us at first, but uh, I guess you kind of pissed him off and he wanted to come clean."

"Imagine that," she mutters, poring over the photo. Name (Gregory Marks) and address scrawled on the back. D'Amico's handwriting sucks. She goes down the hall into her bedroom, barely listening to Dave following her. She tacks the photo up and googles the address. "Should've guessed," she mutters, scanning it. "Less than ten blocks from subway stops, every one less than half an hour from his apartment."

"I'm sorry," Dave says again. "I don't know how to explain it to you." He sounds a little sad at this, and she looks up from the laptop, swiveling away from the desk and leaning her elbows on her knees, looking at him. "It's just like-- he gets me, and I don't mean you _don't_ get me, but it's different." She's briefly tempted to ask if the difference is that she doesn't want to make out with her nemesis (not that she has a nemesis, but still) but doesn't. She doesn't know if Dave's guilt is because he's already realized he has a thing for D'Amico, or just because he knows he's let her down. She thinks about it and decides it doesn't matter much. If he hasn't figured it out yet, he will sooner or later.

"Whatever," she says, shrugging. She knows better than to fight the inevitable; if Dave's found a kindred spirit and it's honest-to-god Red fucking Mist, she's just going to have to watch carefully to see how things pan out. "Just don't expect me to start liking him. And the first time he gets in my way, I'm gonna beat the shit out of him."

"Fair enough," says Dave, and that's the good thing about him being a guy; that's that, it's put to rest. For now, at least. "Now what are we going to do about tracking this guy?"

\---

A week later, Gregory Marks is arrested in connection with six murders and an attempted seventh. There's a one-line mention of Kick-Ass. Hit Girl isn't brought up, even incidentally. The fact that Marks worked for Chris D'Amico-- well, that also apparently wasn't worth mentioning. Having connections at the Times pays off, apparently; what a surprise.

Mindy reads the paper on her way into school that Monday, and tosses it in the trash feeling disgusted.

"Hey, you didn't even save the crossword!" Molly bounces up beside her, grabbing the paper back and pulling the Arts section out. She folds it up and sticks it in her pocket, turning to Mindy with a smile.

She finds herself smiling back, however reluctantly. "Hey," she says. "How was your weekend?"

Molly's smile vanishes. "Eh," she says with a shrug. "Nothing to write home about."

"Yeah," Mindy mutters, "mine either." They're standing in the shadow of a big tree with their backs to the trunk, the yard full of students between them and the school building. Mindy's never felt so removed from them since she started coming here four years ago; the weight of her secrets and fears feels like it's dragging her down.

"You want to come over tonight?" Molly asks just as the silence is about to get weird. "It's not a big deal, I just... I have kind of a weird family. They take some getting used to, so I don't really have people over, like, ever. But... I want you to meet them."

Mindy realizes she's smiling, that a little of that weight feels like it's lifting off her, and she says, "I'd really love to." There's another pause until she adds, all in a rush, "I have weird family too, I mean I did, or I guess I sort of still do... anyway it's kind of a hard story to tell, but I uh. I want to tell it to you, if you feel like it."

Molly doesn't say anything for a second, and for a second Mindy's stomach drops out from under her, and she's afraid. Then she feels Molly's hand slip into hers, warm and reassuring, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Mindy looks up, surprised; Molly's just looking at her and smiling, but her cheeks are bright pink.

This time, Mindy squeezes back.


End file.
